


Afternoons Suck

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-01
Updated: 2003-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the result of a slash-off between myself and three friends over the weekend. We had ten minutes to write in our chosen fandom, writing a pairing selected by the adjudicator, with random extra challenges thrown at us involving green cardigans and ex-lovers. I've tidied this up a little, but essentially it's what I wrote in those ten minutes.</p><p>Dedicated to Kate, Elena and Alicia, and Ben.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afternoons Suck

**Author's Note:**

> Red Dwarf characters belong to Grant Naylor. I am making no money off this work of fan fiction.

It is mid-afternoon. Mid-afternoons are always ineffably boring, especially on board _Starbug_, when on solo cockpit duty.

'Solo' and 'cockpit' are two words that shouldn't be used in the same sentence. Dave Lister uses them in a rather unfortunate combination -- unfortunate, that is, to anyone who walks in and catches him, well, 'entertaining himself'.

'Uh, sorry buddy,' the Cat says, attempting to back down the stairs and nearly tripping over his nonexistent tail.

Lister leaps to his feet, certain parts of his anatomy bouncing in sympathy. 'It's okay, Cat.'

The Cat looks down involuntarily. 'If you say so.' After all, Lister used to be referred to as the 'Prince of Packet' back on the _Dwarf_.

'Come on, Cat. It's not like you haven't seen a... a...' Lister feels the word 'penis' is too clinical, the word 'dick' too high-school. He settles for a downward gesture.

'It ain't the... um... it's the context!'

Lister throws his hands up. 'Kris won't put out, what do you want?'

The Cat sighs. 'It explains the general crustiness of that old green cardigan of Goalpost-head's, at least.'

Lister idly strokes his wilting cock. 'Look, I could always go look for Kris... or at least hump her mattress.'

The Cat sighs again. 'I can't make you do that. Not this time.' _Not last time, either_, he thinks.

Lister looks puppy-eyed. 'Thanks, man. I promise I'll swallow.'


End file.
